


Between A Rock And A Hard Place

by AtropaAzraelle (Polyoxyethylene)



Series: Of Walls and Nerds [31]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Combat, M/M, Peril, Reunions, The Plot Thickens, incidental ocs - Freeform, the world of ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-10-19 14:52:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17603426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyoxyethylene/pseuds/AtropaAzraelle
Summary: After his encounter with Ardyn in Insomnia, Ignis makes his way to Pallebram haven to reunite with Gladio and help tackle the daemon infestation in the Three Valleys.





	1. The Three Valleys

The fencing and floodlight system Cid had devised to keep outposts safe had long been implemented around Hammerhead. Cid himself had been spending most of his time in Lestallum, modifying weapons for the hunters and Glaives, but Cindy still called Hammerhead home and having an able mechanic so far out was invaluable. Takka had lingered in Hammerhead too, making meals of what he was brought to feed the troops even though his diner was being outfitted as a hunter's base.

The smell of coffee hit Ignis's nose instantly when he walked in. It wasn't Ebony, but it was hot, and comfortingly acerbic in the nostrils. He took a great lungful and felt his mouth water. He'd long since kicked his caffeine dependency, but the scent was dreadfully tempting.

There were people in the diner, but the ones to Ignis's right fell silent as Aranea entered behind him. “You've got a clear run to the counter,” she said, her voice low. Ignis missed his stick already; navigating unfamiliar places, especially ones that other people used, was tricky enough with it. Aranea must have noticed his uncertainty.

“I think you've been spotted,” he replied, quietly, as he began to walk.

Aranea's hair brushed against her leather armour. The whispered sound in the pause before her response told him she'd looked. “Don't worry,” she said, as quietly as she'd guided him, “they're friendly.”

Not everyone was fond of former Nifs. Some of the displaced Insomnians that had taken refuge in Lestallum after the disaster of the treaty signing had taken particular umbrage with being asked to share the city with the smattering of Nif refugees that had made their way across afterwards. Many had fled to Altissia, but a brave or desperate few had jumped on boats to make their way to Lucis.

Aranea's reputation preceded her. The hunters and Glaives all knew what service she'd provided, especially since Niflheim's fall, and a lot of refugees owed their lives to her. Still, there were mutterings on crowded streets about damned Nifs and how they should be out there with the daemons they'd made.

Ignis heard Aranea's distinctive steps come to a halt, and he stopped alongside her. Raising one arm out brought the back of his hand in contact with the counter, and he followed the line of it up with his fingers until he found the top.

“If you ain't a sight for sore eyes,” came Takka's voice from across the counter. “Rough trek?”

“You could say that. I need a shower, and a change of clothes,” Ignis told him.

“And something to eat,” Aranea added, “whatever you've got.”

“One chef's special coming right up,” Takka replied. “You here to help clear the nest in the Three Valleys?”

“I am,” Ignis confirmed, stressing that it was just himself. “I'll be on my way to Pallebram haven as soon as I've changed.”

“I've got an important delivery for Lestallum,” Aranea answered, sounding genuinely apologetic. Getting the single scroll they'd salvaged safely inside Lestallum's borders came first. They'd risked so much for it that it wasn't worth the risk of losing it by keeping it with them now. The scroll had to go to Talcott so he could transcribe it to tape for Ignis. He only hoped that the damage from the fire wasn't too extensive.

“I'll come and help if the fun's not over by the time I'm done,” Aranea added, with an uptick in her tone that suggested she'd given Takka a crooked smirk.

Ignis heard a rise in muttering over at the table that had fallen silent. He couldn't make out every word, but he definitely heard 'blind guy' and 'crownsguard' get mentioned. “If you could spare a coffee, too,” Ignis said, keeping one ear on the conversation behind him, “it would be appreciated.”

“You're in luck,” Takka answered, before qualifying, “but it's not your usual kind. Ran out of that years back.”

Ignis favoured the sound of Takka's voice with a wan smile. “As did I.”

Takka gave a laugh that was muffled, as if he'd turned away, and Ignis heard the sound of something hot and liquid being poured into a crockery mug. He waited, listening to the sounds from behind the counter, and the whispered conversation going on behind him until Takka's footfalls stopped in front of him again. The sound of a full mug being set down was a soft, distinct click on the counter. “No charge,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“We got some clothes out back going spare,” Takka said, over the sound of Aranea's fork hitting her plate. Whatever food she'd been served gave way without discernible sound. “Nothing as fancy as your usual,” he added.

“It's more than gracious of you,” Ignis replied, sweeping his hand slowly across the countertop until he located the mug. It was hot to the touch, and left a ring of heat on the counter's surface. “I fear I'll have to ask Iris to repair these.” Which was not, in all honesty, a conversation he looked forward to having. Iris was growing up, and the headstrong teenager had taken after her brother in many ways, including a tendency to worry more than she let on.

“I can take them to her,” Aranea said, around a mouthful of something she was still chewing. “You got anything that needs shipping?” she asked. The question sounded as if it was directed at Takka.

“Got some weapons in need of repair,” he answered. “You'll need to check at the Culless van. We do what we can,” he added, “but no one here has old man Cid's know-how with weapons.”

“Doubtless Cindy will want to pass a message on,” Ignis added, bringing his mug of coffee to his nose and inhaling. It lacked Ebony's depth of aroma, but it was hot, and caffeinated, and it had been so long. Trust Takka to have been resourceful enough to keep a supply of coffee going all these years.

A sound caught Ignis's ear as Aranea grunted her agreement and forked another mouthful from her plate. He resisted the urge to turn his head. The conversation behind him had ceased, and there was a pensive air building as someone approached. He took a slow sip as the nominated person approached, and savoured the flavour of his first cup of coffee in years.

“You're that blind Crownsguard, aren't you?” came the voice. Ignis felt the words slide under his skin and rip at his chest. _That blind Crownsguard_. Was that what he was now? “There was a bit about you in one of the papers.”

Ignis kept himself from gripping his mug of coffee too tightly. The notion that he was some gossip column curio rankled and he wasn't sure where this conversation was leading, although the man's tone suggested a wary sort of awe rather than a challenge. “I'm afraid I'm not up to signing autographs,” he replied.

“I didn't mean--” the man began in an apologetic rush, and then cut off. He sounded young, Ignis realised. His voice was deep, and he was a little shorter than himself, but there was a softness to his tone and an uncertainty of his conviction that suggested youth. At a guess, Ignis would place his age around his early twenties. No older than Ignis himself had been when he, and Gladio, and Noctis, and Prompto had first left Insomnia. “No offence was intended, sir,” the young man tried again. “We heard you say you were going to Pallebram haven,” he said, sounding sincere enough to make Ignis curious. “We were hoping we could come with you?”

“You want a blind man for an escort?” Ignis asked, turning towards the young man and allowing him to see the extent of the scars behind his visor. Ignis knew he made for a sight right now; he stank of charred clothing, and doubtless there was soot on his clothes, and perhaps his face.

He'd struggle to get to the haven on his own, he knew, even if he didn't want to admit it. The route was hazardous, not only because of the daemons but because of the terrain. No one kept the lands around Hammerhead conveniently swept and the footpaths clear of obstacles. The wild was truly that, and infinitely more dangerous now Ignis lacked his stick. For someone to see him in this state and consider him a valuable ally based on little more than a newspaper article was almost concerning.

“You're one of the King of Light's men,” came the answer. “It'd be an honour.”

Ignis gazed into the darkness left to him by the ring. It was, he'd found, the same place he'd always gazed when his search was internal. His and Gladio's encounters with Ardyn had left him wary, and going blind had left him cynical. He didn't trust other people's motives the way he once had because he couldn't see what was written on their faces, and he would have been unable to trust them anyway because Ardyn could be anyone.

He doubted Ardyn would speak of Noct this way, and Ardyn was more likely to take the form of someone he knew. Familiarity would engender trust. So that left only his own jaded view of the world to raise objections. Noctis was the King of Light. That had got out long ago, and it was the fuel that kept the fires of hope burning. Noct was the Lucis Caelum in charge of the ring on the night when all came to naught. Some didn't believe in the old stories, and many others clung to them now as the last hope they had. Including, apparently, this man, who must have spent a quarter of his life or more in the darkness.

“Very well,” he said, giving a small nod to the young optimist. “I'll be ready to go once I've changed, and finished my coffee.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man walked away. His steps sounded as if he was trying not to run back to his friends, and Ignis turned towards Aranea, and Takka. “How old are they?” he asked.

Aranea's leather outfit creaked as she leaned back, and then forward again. “Younger than you when I first saw you,” she said. “Oldest one's maybe twenty,” she explained. “If the youngest one's sixteen I'll be surprised. Someone should teach him to shave.”

“Children,” Ignis noted, softly.

Aranea's outfit gave another creak of movement. “You're sure about going with them?” she asked.

Ignis frowned into the scent of his coffee. “No,” he confessed, “but it'll be easier to get there with eyes, even if they're not my own.”

Takka allowed Ignis the use of his own shower. The water was lukewarm at best, but the shower in the caravan ran colder, and the utilitarian ones that hunters used to hose themselves down after a messy fight were colder still. Ignis found himself thinking longingly of Lestallum, and the showers in the apartments that could, with a little encouragement and careful timing, actually run hot. Still, it served to wash away the soot and grime, and combined with the caffeine working its blessed way through his system Ignis felt somewhat like his old self.

His hair, when he combed soap through it with his fingers, bore a smattering of brittle scorched locks. He hadn't been aware of it burning at the time; the heat had been all around. It wouldn't do to show his face to Gladio, or anyone else, with choppy burnt hair. He must have made a frightful sight walking into the diner. Perhaps a restyle was in order.

Clothes had been laid out for him when he emerged. He felt denim jeans, and what seemed to be a t-shirt, with an asymmetrical zip up jacket that was manoeuvrable enough. He didn't know what colours they were, and he hoped that Takka had picked out something black, or at least grey, or failing that, something that didn't clash terribly, but he was in no position to look in a gift chocobo's beak.

The trousers fit him well, and Ignis checked he could move adequately, stretching his legs to ensure they were comfortable. His Crownsguard fatigues were well worn in and felt as natural to fight in as his own skin. Wearing something new, he wanted to be sure he'd be comfortable. The t-shirt was a little looser than he liked across his stomach, although it clung at his biceps in a way that was familiar.

He carefully tucked the pendant Gladio had given him all those years ago down the neck of the t-shirt, then set to fixing his hair. He styled it up, out of his face; the sensation of strands tickling at his forehead and cheeks got distracting and always left him with the urge to brush them aside even though he didn't need to do so to see. Rather than drawing it up into spikes, however, that would only show the ends that were uneven and scorched, he drew it up and then back, into something softer that hid the ends from view. His hair had grown longer than he used to keep it anyway. It was past time he got it cut.

When Ignis was satisfied that he couldn't feel any crispy hairs visible he pulled on the jacket. It was lighter than his usual one, which would take some getting used to. Though it wasn't too tight around his arms, the collar brushed at his chin, and the sound of the outer material sliding against itself as he moved was new and distracting. It was a sound he'd heard a few times with other hunters. The jacket was likely a popular style. Ignis didn't bother to fasten it; Leide was warm enough despite the permanent darkness.

His progress back to the diner was slower than he'd have liked. He retraced his route with one hand trailing the wall. Practice and an already acute awareness of his own body meant he was fairly adept at walking a straight line, but his fingers meeting the doorjamb was a much more definite sign that he was where he believed himself to be than simply counting steps. Ignis could hear voices just beyond the door, though he couldn't make out what they were saying. Travelling the relatively short distance to Pallebram haven would be the first time he'd ventured out with people that didn't already know him.

That thought sent a flutter through his guts. The fact that Gladio would be at the end of the trek only added to the feeling of nervous tension. They hadn't been out on the battlefield together since their supposed break up. They hadn't even trained together since then.

He had what information he could rescue from the royal archives waiting for him in Lestallum, and Gladio waiting for him in Pallebram. For the first time in so long it felt as if things might finally be moving forwards. Best not to dally, then.

Ignis re-entered the diner and listened for the sound of his companion's voices. The one that had approached him was audible through the more general hunter's chatter of the diner. Aranea had left while he showered, taking Ignis's Crownsguard uniform with her for repair in Lestallum. A pair of women were talking to Ignis's right about seeing her distinctive red ship leave. Ignis approached the familiar voice, crossing the diner with as much confidence as he could and hoping no one had left anything in the way.

The group fell quiet as Ignis made his way towards them. One of them was nervously tapping out an arrhythmic drumbeat. When he stopped, Ignis judged himself close enough. “Are you ready?” he asked. 

“Yes sir,” came the answer, followed by the sound of impromptu drumsticks being set down on the table with a careful click. “I'm Adam,” added the speaker, “and this is Kenny, Nereus, and Finn.” Each name was followed by a grunt or a hello. From the sound of their voices, Ignis judged Finn to be the one Aranea had said was sixteen at best. His voice still bore the strains of youth, and wasn't quite broken.

“You're certain about joining me?” Ignis asked, addressing the whole table. “The journey will be dangerous, to say nothing of what awaits at the end.”

“We're hunters,” answered the voice Ignis suspected was Kenny; his initial greeting had been little more than a grunt, and he sounded older than Finn, although that wasn't saying much. “We're not as old as you, but it won't be the first time we've fought daemons.”

How long had they been fighting? One had to be eighteen to be inducted into the Crownsguard, but that rule hadn't always been adhered to so strictly. The Marshal had been the grand old age of thirteen when he'd come into the service of King Mors. In times such as these, age was no grounds for judgement, and yet Ignis couldn't shake the notion that they were all much too young to be facing the monsters in the dark. They weren't much younger than Noct and Prompto had been. The long night had made hunters of every able bodied man and woman in the years since it had began.

Even Iris, he thought, with Ardyn's words in Insomnia echoing in his memory. If he was telling the truth, then she was training in private. It sounded like something he expected Aranea to have a hand in. How much longer before she broached the subject of taking on hunts herself? Ignis's image of her remained frozen in time; to him she was a fifteen year old girl, with her brother's eyes, and slightly too short skirt, and that crush on Noct that she hid poorly and yet to which Noct remained oblivious.

Iris obviously wasn't quite so passively obedient as to stay where it was safe any more. That Amicitia stubbornness was rearing its head. The thought brought a smile to Ignis's face, and he gave a nod towards Kenny. “Quite,” he said. “Very well then.”

Hammerhead's gates creaked as they swung on their hinges. Floodlights guarded the border, bright enough that Ignis could discern the light through the useless fog of his remaining vision. Beyond Hammerhead was a blackness he was accustomed to, that lay suspiciously quiet for now. 

He could feel tarmac under his shoes. How many times had they crossed this road on their journey? How many times had he pulled the Regalia out onto this road and down this route? He could recall every time Noct had wanted to venture out after nightfall, and he'd advised against it. The roads were perilous; daemons were attracted to them. It was better to find a haven, or stay in a caravan, or, occasionally, stay overnight in the Regalia at some heavily lit parking spot and carefully ignore the presence of broken down, rusted cars at them in case you started to wonder what might have befallen their drivers.

Now, the roads were relative safety. They were a marker of one's path in a world where it became all too easy to become turned around and disoriented. The hiss of Hammerhead's lights fell away behind them as they walked, slowly replaced by the hiss and creak of daemons in the darkness.

“You hear that?” Nereus whispered, somewhere to Ignis's left.

“An Iron Giant,” Ignis informed him, with a smile, turning his head slightly. “It isn't close enough to be of concern,” he advised.

“You can tell how far away it is?” one of them asked. Ignis suspected it was Finn. There was amazement in his tone.

“It's been a few years now since I was able to rely on my vision to warn me of danger,” Ignis answered. “Of course, by the time one can see the threat, it has typically seen you. Hearing can be much more reliable for staying out of trouble.”

They gave the Three Valleys as wide a berth as they could. Growls and snarls echoed through the air, bouncing off the rock walls that formed the area's enclaves, distant and all the more unsettling for it, but Ignis heard nothing to suggest any hunters were involved in the fighting. The tarmac of the road led them on a gently winding course with the Valleys to their left, and the Weaverwilds flanking their right.

When the creak and groan of a daemon erupting in their vicinity finally came Ignis all but breathed a sigh of relief. He'd expected to run into something much closer to Hammerhead, and the absence of daemonic interference in the journey was starting to unnerve him. Perhaps the floodlights were more effective than they'd anticipated. The road arced around the Northernmost enclave, Ignis remembered it skirting a rocky plateau that was often patrolled by sabertusks, and to their right the sound tore the oppressive peace in half. He listened for clues, unable to feel any magic indicating the daemon, or daemons, to be bombs.

There was no thump of limbs hitting the ground as the daemon emerged, and no click claws or swish of robes to lend a clue as to the daemons identity. Then he heard the gelatinous squelch of movement that gave away the type as a flan. It wasn't large enough to be a black flan; the sound wasn't coming from high enough, and Ignis drew on his lance as the first movements of his travelling companions making their attack began.

The crack of gunshot was temporarily deafening. Ignis winced, moving to put more space between himself and whichever of the two younger members of the party had fired. To his left was the sound of someone with a blade hacking away at a flan. The attacks sounded haphazard and wild, the panted breath and odd squelch of the blade sinking into the flan's body gave Ignis a fairly solid image of the young hunter's fighting style.

Ignis stayed back, and listened. Whichever of them held the gun was working in tandem with someone holding a much shorter ranged blade to wear down one flan. On his left, under attack, was another flan.

A slick sounding movement further left indicated another trying to creep up behind the amateur sword wielder. Ignis threw his lance underarm at the noise. The impact made a sucking sound, as the lance became deeply embedded in something gloopy. Ignis vanished the weapon back into the depths of the armiger and recalled it to his hand again, repeating the throw.

Behind him, something approached quietly. He felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck before he knew what he was hearing. The click of bone was faint, but he caught it in enough time to spin on his heel and drive his lance into the depths of the reaper's chest. “Saw that one coming,” he told it, feeling his weapon scrape against the reaper's ribcage as he pulled it back. A vicious swing sent it flying, scattered across the tarmac, small bones clattering like tossed dice as it landed.

Another gunshot too close to Ignis's ear made his head ring. He may have to pull the wielder aside for a quiet word about deafening the blind man and courtesy, he thought, sensing the movement next to him rather than hearing it in the aftermath as someone came up beside him, weapon drawn. “There's more coming.” The voice belonged to Kenny.

“We may have to press on as we fight,” Ignis advised. Hunters and Glaives were gathering at the Havens, and something in the Three Valleys was drawing the daemons in. Daemons weren't necessarily mindless; Ignis had learned that with Gladio and Prompto when they were trapped in Gralea. Many of them used to be people, and one only had to pay attention to the way the more humanoid of them behaved to see the echoes of humanity left behind. They would know enough to know the hunters were gathering; the presence of people would draw them to it, and the Havens would keep them at bay.

Now that they'd noticed Ignis and the others making their way through, the daemons would come flocking to them. If they stopped to finish off each battle, they might never reach their destination. If they allowed themselves to become worn down they stood no chance.

Gunshots rang out again as something else approached, this time from their left. Whatever it was had been attracted by the noise and hadn't needed to emerge from the depths with the tortured screams of twisting metal that were so common. The faint sound of hurried, short footsteps, and the sound of cloth brushing the ground sent a warning thrill up Ignis's spine.

“Head for the haven,” he instructed, “don't stop.”

The sounds of those quick little footsteps became drowned out by much bigger feet with a much longer stride. “They didn't look that bad,” said Adam, as they left their pursuer behind.

_They_ , Ignis thought. He'd only heard one, and one was enough. There were some enemies he'd disliked fighting even when he could see. “ _They_ were Tonberries,” he answered. “If you're lucky, they're only carrying a knife. They're a lot faster and more manoeuvrable than they appear, and much, much more dangerous.”

Metal screeched behind them. The sound echoed unpleasantly, reverberating like a car crash. Two at once, Ignis thought, listening; one directly behind them, and one to their right. He heard the click of limbs and the crackle of lightning and internally cursed.

“Keep going!” he told the others, ignoring his own advice and stopping as he recalled his lance to his hand. There was another daemon approaching, he knew, one he couldn't hear yet, but they needed some more space between themselves and the Arachne type. Ignis listened carefully, pinpointing the sound of electricity spitting in the air, and then threw his lance as hard as he could directly at the noise.

It struck home with the crunch of a spider's carapace and a scream from the daemon. Ignis recalled his lance to his other hand, throwing it without hesitation at the same spot. He couldn't give her chance to summon tarantulas. A handful of large enemies were easy to run from, but the tiny spiders Arachnes called in to help them could slow them down enough to let the bigger problems catch up.

He threw his lance again, and again, and then Finn's voice called from somewhere to the left. “Ignis!” Gunshot followed it almost immediately, and then Ignis heard something slimy reel as it was struck.

He tossed a dagger into the sound and heard the blade slice through something wet, but more solid than a flan. A mindflayer, then; he remembered their tentacles, and their unfortunate habit of grabbing people in them and leaving them weak and confused. Ignis tossed another dagger, and then turned and ran for the sound of Finn's voice.

They'd left the road, which meant they were in more open territory, but also drawing closer to the Three Valleys and whatever inside was attracting the daemons. The terrain beneath his feet became uneven; parched earth giving way with each footstep, and his feet striking rocky outcroppings that jarred his limbs like miscounting the steps on a staircase. Dry, dead shrubs snagged at his trouser legs as he ran.

“Are they following?” he asked, as two pairs of feet joined his side, running alongside him.

The person on his left turned, his gait changing to a sideways hop for a few strides before Nereus answered, “Yeah.”

“We can't let them slow us down,” Ignis said. “they'll just wear us out. Only engage to keep them back.” Once they were in sight of the haven the perimeter patrols there would be able to help hold the daemons off while they reached safety.

There was a cluster of bombs to their right as Ignis's feet hit the ancient metal piping that crisscrossed Leide. Once upon a time that pipework had been laid with the intent to irrigate the arid landscape. Then land had been ceded to the Empire's ever encroaching forces and they'd lain as a mark of good intentions never seen to completion. Now they served as signposts for travelers. The Three Valleys were to their left, and Pallebram haven lay ahead of them.

A cluster of bombs lurked to their right, keeping their path closer to the Valleys than Ignis would have liked. Elemental magic tripped like hot fingers along Ignis's spine, and he re-evaluated from bombs to Grenades. They weren't worth wasting an ice spell against, and Nereus, it was Nereus, shot a few rounds at them, deafening Ignis once again.

Ignis resisted the urge to hold a hand over his ear. Nereus had been stood right next to him this time, and all sound became muffled in the aftermath. “A warning would be appreciated,” he heard himself say through the aural fog. He was long accustomed to the sound of guns, and Prompto had quite the selection of noisy machinery he could employ in battle, but Prompto had known better than to be standing by Ignis's side when discharging his firearms ever since they'd reunited with him in Gralea. “I rely on my hearing,” he pointed out.

“Shit, sorry!”

Ignis shook his head. He felt more blind than ever when everything was muffled. Knowing he couldn't hear the swishing of robes or clack of claws that would warn him of an incoming attack set his teeth on edge. He fought in the dark, he even had the advantage over others because he was used to fighting enemies he couldn't see, but fighting deaf was an entirely different, unpleasant experience.

“I see them!” Adam called. The footsteps of the others picked up pace. The haven would be lit up with portable floodlights, and when they were close enough Ignis would be able to discern the difference. Occupied havens were spots of daytime in the midst of the eternal night, bright enough to ensure daemons stayed away beyond the borders of the haven's magical protections. 

Ignis's breath caught as the menacing aura of something dark and frighteningly quiet swept through the air, making the hair at the back of his neck stood on end. He summoned his lance to his hand as Finn screamed and thumped to the floor. Ignis knew this feeling; he'd encountered it before, and he swung his lance in a wide arc, feeling it bite into something barely substantial enough to call it a hit.

There was barely any noise from the daemon, but if Ignis paid attention he could feel the dark magic emanating from it. It swirled out in wide circles, engulfing them all. Something landed softly against Ignis's back and left a cold burning sensation behind, but after the attack that energy drew back, centring in on the daemon's body. Ignis could feel it so distinctly that it was almost as good as seeing it. He threw his land as hard as he could, and felt the magic pull back again as the daemon reeled. “Get up!” he barked.

The dark magic surged out again. Ignis did his best to shield himself with his lance, reaching down to help drag Finn from the floor. “Run for the haven,” he told them all, “don't stop until you're in the lights.”

“What about you?” Kenny asked.

“I'll be right behind you,” Ignis replied, slashing his lance at the feeling of magic that was creeping closer again. Something struck his weapon, and the vibration of the impact reverberated through his hand.

There was a scuffling as Kenny helped Finn to his feet and pulled him along to start running. Ignis lingered a little longer, tossing his lance at where he could sense the Wraith hovering, just out of range. He heard the hit, the thump as the weapon made contact and he followed it with a tossed dagger that whizzed through the air.

The Wraith reeled, but there was another noise at the edge of Ignis's perception. Wraiths were rarely alone, and this one had come from the direction of the Three Valleys, and the nest within.

Something heavy jumped nearby, and landed on multiple legs. It roared, sounding like a huge wild animal, and Ignis's blood ran cold. He'd heard that noise before too, but this sounded bigger than the deathclaw they'd faced in Ghorovas Rift.

He turned and ran just as he heard rocks smashing and crumbling. The haven was still some way ahead, but the circle of floodlights that marked its perimeter would extend further, and hopefully the daemon didn't want to chase its prey.

“Ignis!” a voice called, “Over here!”

Ignis ran towards it, and the dark world lightened like dawn had broken as he reached the safety of the floodlights.

“You made it,” said Nereus. Ignis stopped, resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. Someone jumped down from the haven and approached.

“This all of you?”

Ignis felt his heart thump in his chest and forced himself to stand up again, looking at the speaker.

“Yeah,” answered Kenny. “We're the last.”

“Get some rest,” was the answer. “You're gonna need it.”

Ignis listened to his young companions make their way up onto the haven, feet and hands scrabbling at rock. A large, warm hand settled on his shoulder. “Hey,” said Gladio, more gently.

Ignis smiled at him, hoping that his sprint the last few metres hadn't left him looking too much the worse for wear. “I heard you could do with a hand,” he said.

Gladio's thumb stroked against his shoulder. “Glad you made it.”

As well as Circlawe, where Prompto was currently encamped, there was another ragtag battalion of hunters at Merrioth. Ignis listened to Gladio's commanding tone as they were briefed and fed a stew that tasted as if it was made up of whatever people had managed to bring with them. Merrioth were the main camp and primary fighting force, currently under the command of Cor. The plan was to flank the Northernmost of the Valley enclaves and enter from both sides at once, Merrioth from the East, and Pallebram from the West. Circlawe would provide back up, ensuring the rest of them weren't hemmed in and massacred once they got inside.

The attacks were being co-ordinated via radio contact. When Cor gave the go ahead, Circlawe would move first. Pallebram were to move just before Merrioth's own forces. All told, they had around fifty hunters spread between the three havens. That, now, represented the bulk of Leide's fighting force. They'd left just enough hunters and Glaives at Longwhyte, Hammerhead, and Galdin to defend them, relying on the power of the floodlights to keep the daemons at bay.

“There's a deathclaw inside,” Ignis said, when Gladio asked if there were any questions. 

“Yeah,” Gladio agreed, after a moment's tense silence. “And it's bigger and nastier than usual. The first attempt lost a lot of hunters to it before we retreated.”

Ignis felt his throat tighten at the words, but he swallowed the fear that spiked in his chest. Gladio had faced it, and retreated from it. He'd come so close to losing Gladio, and yet Ignis had been in Insomnia instead of here where he'd been needed.

“Cor plans to take three of his best and go straight for the deathclaw,” Gladio elaborated, unaware of the way Ignis's stomach had flipped uncomfortably. “But there could be worse when we get there. Even if there is, stick together, we should make it through.” 

A few hunters had already been selected to go and join Cor's force at Merrioth, performing a preliminary sweep of the path between the two as they did. Morning and night held no meaning any more, but it was generally accepted that they'd call the time they'd be leaving 'the morning'. It was, at least, after they'd got some sleep.

“As for guard rotation,” Gladio said, finishing up the briefing, “it's two at a time, two hour shifts. You hear or see any daemons coming within the lights you wake the rest of us up. Don't be heroes.” Ignis listened as people were assigned their pairs, and timeslots, and then he heard, “Iggy, you're with me.”

Ignis felt a small thrill run down his spine, but he forced himself to frown seriously and nod.

“The blind guy keeping watch?” someone muttered, off to Ignis's left.

“Bet that's why the captain took him,” came the whispered reply.

“Hey!” Finn's voice rose over the gentle susurrus of the crowd. “That blind guy saved my life on the way here. Show some respect.”

“Finn,” Ignis said, gently, but clearly, because he wanted the rest to hear. “That's not necessary. I've been fighting in the dark longer than anyone here, I don't need to prove that to others.”

An awkward silence descended over the haven, and Ignis kept his face as placid as he could. Finally, after letting Ignis's words hang in the air for just long enough for them to sink in, Gladio told them, “I trust Iggy with my life, as well as all of yours. Get some rest. First watch starts now.”

The one man tents were crowded so close to each other that they practically rubbed shoulders. There was only just enough room in the tent for Ignis to lie down, and it smelled faintly of old sweat, and other people's feet. He stayed awake, listening to the world beyond the canvas. Knowing that Gladio was here and yet he couldn't hold him or tell him how much he'd missed him was torture, but they couldn't risk being seen or overheard.

Ignis was reasonably sure that Ardyn could no more see into the goings on at a haven than he could see within the confines of Ignis's own head, but he was distressingly well informed nonetheless. He certainly knew enough about what happened within Lestallum's walls to be a threat.

Ignis really should warn Gladio about Iris's training. He should also speak to Iris himself. She might benefit from a sparring partner, at the very least. Ignis was under no illusion that Iris could be talked out of her plans to hunt, but if he could help ensure she was an adept fighter before she faced anything truly dangerous then he would. Gladio would feel the same way; it was how he'd approached Ignis taking up the fight again, once he'd known he couldn't be talked out of it.

As the hunters around him fell asleep the air became filled with the sounds of snoring, and then that too drifted away to leave little but the sounds of Ignis's closest neighbours asleep in their tents, and the daemons crying out in the wilderness beyond. Ignis could hear Giants patrolling and roaring, their thundering feet distant but unsettling, and somewhere in the depths of the Three Valleys something screamed.

Something touching his foot startled Ignis from a slumber he hadn't been aware of slipping into. “Hey,” Gladio whispered, “it's me. It's our turn on guard, come on.”

Ignis swallowed, brushing the sleep from his useless eyes and retrieving his visor. He'd have given rather a lot for one of Takka's coffees right now, even if it wasn't Ebony.

He took a moment to brush his hair back into place before emerging from the tent as gracefully as he could manage. There wasn't enough space for him to stand up and walk out, so he left at an awkward crouch. A hand touched his elbow as the warm night air hit him, guiding him the last step clear of the tent.

“Thank you.”

“Don't mention it.” Gladio's voice was soft, filled with the affection that had been absent from Ignis's life since they'd last parted in Lestallum. It did nothing to damp down his desire to take Gladio in his arms and never let him go again, but that was an action they couldn't afford to make on a crowded haven. Who knew what, or who, could be watching from the shadows?

The shuffling sounds of restless sleepers in their tents were slowly replaced by more snoring as Ignis took up his post at one edge of the havenstone. Gladio took the other. Ignis heard his every movement as he paced a short course from time to time, keeping himself awake no doubt.

“I can hear exactly where the Three Valleys are,” he said, when the only other sounds were sleeping hunters and screaming daemons.

“Yeah?” Gladio responded, from a quarter way round the haven, facing out at the expanse of sand and rocks. His feet scraped the stone as he turned to face Ignis. “Can you tell what's in there?”

Ignis frowned, and then shook his head. “It's difficult to tell at this distance,” he said. That many sounds from one direction tended to merge the further away you were from the source, but he could still discern the distinctive roar of the deathclaw he'd run from. It made his skin prickle as if he had a chill, despite the warmth of the Leiden night. “What did you see when you were in there?” he asked, turning slightly to Gladio's direction.

Gladio sighed, and his boots tapped gently on the stone as he approached Ignis. “A big ugly deathclaw,” he answered, “at least one naga, a couple of samurai.”

“You're lucky to be alive,” Ignis told him, fighting the way his stomach flipped and his throat tightened. He'd been in Insomnia, facing Ardyn, he reminded himself. Gladio would be no happier about that fact than Ignis was about this.

“We didn't get far in,” Gladio answered. His hand settled across the middle of Ignis's back, warm and steady and alive. “I got out in one piece, but a lot of others didn't make it out at all.”

“How many did you lose?” Ignis asked quietly, leaning back fractionally into that touch.

“Seven,” Gladio replied, his voice heavy and low with pain. “We didn't even get far enough in to see the Nidus,” he added. “I called the retreat as soon as I saw how many there were, but--”

“You did everything you could,” Ignis cut him off. He could hear that 'but', and where it was going, and the pain it brought with it. “We're at war. There are losses. Everyone who chooses to fight knows that.” Kenny's determination echoed in his memory. The boy was asleep somewhere on this haven, too young to be fighting a war for all their lives, and yet here he was, by his own choice. “Everyone who came here would rather fight than wait to die by daemonic hands in the safety of their home.” Ignis swallowed, and turned towards Gladio before he added, “And some of us are fighting to keep others safe. We know the risks. No one holds you responsible.”

Gladio's hand slid higher up Ignis's back, until it settled at the top of his far shoulder and Gladio heaved a quiet sigh. It was as close to an embrace as they could safely get, and Ignis wished they could afford themselves more. Gladio's fingers tightened on Ignis's shoulder, and then released slowly before Gladio said in a soft whisper, “I've missed you.”

Ignis brought his hand up to touch the backs of Gladio's fingers. “And I you,” he replied, quietly.

“You look good, you know?” Gladio murmured, keeping his voice down. “I'm digging the hair.”

Ignis brushed his thumb along the side of Gladio's index finger. He wanted more contact, but this was already more than they should really be risking. “I thought it would make a change,” he said, refraining from adding that it was a necessary change given the uneven scorching parts of his hair had received.

Gladio's fingers lifted under Ignis's, finding the spaces between his fingers and slotting them together as he leaned in close enough for his breath to riffle Ignis's hair and brush against the shell of his ear, “And your ass looks great in those jeans.”

Ignis suppressed a chuckle. He wanted to bring his arm out and issue Gladio with a backhanded slap to his broad chest for the comment, but he wanted to enjoy the way their fingers fitted together a little more. “I suppose I could keep them,” he answered.

Gladio's fingers tightened slightly on his, and then spread and curled again so that their hands were clasped a little more securely. “So does this mean you'll be working with me again?” Gladio asked.

It was what they'd wanted. Snatched hours in Lestallum had left Ignis feeling like a man trapped in the desert. There had been oases in the expanse that had kept him alive, but the distance between their illicit rendezvous had been hell to travel. If they worked on a slow reunion, one that appeared as friends and not as lovers, then they'd be able to take hunts together, and stay at havens together in privacy. They'd have to be careful, still, but Ignis wanted more than anything to be able to sleep in Gladio's arms, and for his snoring to be the soundtrack to Ignis's morning again.

“Perhaps,” Ignis agreed, “but let's not get ahead of ourselves.” If they went from a painful split to hunting together on a regular schedule people would notice. “We both have our own work to do, after all.”

Ignis felt Gladio's fingers slip back slightly. “Yeah,” Gladio conceded, dully.

Ignis redoubled his grip on Gladio's hand. “But when you need a helping hand, you can call on me, as I'll call on you.”

Gladio's hand stilled under Ignis's, and then squeezed in a grip that edged close to being unbearably tight in the split second before it eased off again. “I'd like that,” Gladio said.

“There is something that would make that easier,” Ignis said, keeping his voice as low as he could, trying to ensure his words were for Gladio's ears only.

“What is it?” Gladio asked. His thumb brushed against the back of Ignis's thumb in a minute gesture that was unmistakably affectionate, as if all the hugs and kisses they longed to bestow could be conveyed through such tiny touches.

Ignis hesitated at the next words he had lined up, but Aranea had been right. “If you were to get a girlfriend,” he pushed himself to say.

“Iggy--” Gladio began, his voice quiet, but dangerous, threatening argument.

“Not a real one,” Ignis explained in a breathy hush. “But if it were to appear as if you'd moved on,” he added, and left the end of the sentence hanging.

“Why does it have to be me that moves on?” Gladio asked in a hiss. Indignation threatened to bubble up in his voice.

“Because you're fit, young, and attractive,” Ignis pointed out.

“So are you,” Gladio replied. “You've never looked hotter.”

Ignis wondered if they were really going to argue about who of them was the more attractive to others. He didn't feel as young as he really was, but then, he doubted Gladio did either. They'd both been through too much to feel their true ages. Those times in the past when a look from Gladio had made him feel like a lovesick teenager aside, Ignis didn't think he'd felt his true age since he was six years old. Gladio was the only one who had ever really made him feel his age. 

“I'm also blind,” he replied. “It would be suspect if I were to claim to have met a partner I couldn't introduce to anyone else, but you--” Ignis cut himself off with a sigh. “People have swooned over you since you were fifteen, Gladio,” Ignis should know, he wanted to add, because he used to be one of them, “and you travel more than I do right now. Of the two of us, you're the better placed to charm some theoretical person that travels too much to be met by everyone else.”

Gladio grumbled, deep in his throat. It was an unhappy sound, and one that Ignis had heard before when Gladio was less than thrilled with an idea, but preparing himself to go along with it anyway. “I hate lying,” he complained.

“I know,” Ignis told him. “It would just make it more convincing that we're both getting on with our lives if at least one of us forms another relationship. We've been apart for months now, it's about time.”

Gladio's boots scuffed against the havenstone in the ensuing silence. The snoring from the tents behind them continued unabated, as did the screams of the daemons in the Northern Valley. “So long as you don't expect me to actually meet someone,” Gladio muttered, eventually.

Ignis afforded himself a wan smile at the words, and the note of petulance contained in them. “I'd be heartbroken if you did,” he admitted, softly.

Gladio's hand shook free of Ignis's only to capture his fingers in his palm and hold it tightly. “You know I'd never do that to you.”

“I know,” Ignis agreed. Gladio was the first person he'd ever loved in a way that made Ignis want him for himself. Knowing he was wanted in the same way made their time apart bearable, if exquisitely painful. He didn't think he could have borne it for a second if he'd doubted Gladio's feelings. He wanted Gladio to be happy, perhaps more than he wanted Gladio to be his, and if he'd thought for a moment that Gladio's happiness was located elsewhere he'd have sent him off to it with a smile on his face, and his heart in pieces.

It was only because he was sure that Gladio loved and wanted him, and would have felt the same way, that he hadn't forced Gladio to find happiness elsewhere.

“So if I do this you'll work with me more?” Gladio asked, derailing Ignis's train of thought.

Ignis felt the warmth of Gladio's body so close to his side, and the arm across his back, and the hand grasping his securely. He'd missed these simple touches and gestures of affection. If he let himself ignore the sheer number of daemonic cries he could hear beyond the haven he could almost convince himself the snores behind them were Noct and Prompto, and this was merely another night when the evening had descended faster than they'd realised. Back then he'd cooked over the stove, and they'd chatted around the heat of the fire, and then he and Gladio had stood and watched the moon track across the sky while the beasts and daemons had wandered, unaware of their presence.

He wanted to go back to that so much. It wouldn't be the same, now, with so many daemons, and the fear of what was happening around them, but it was something. Ignis gave a nod, and Gladio squeezed his hand a little tighter.

Morning arrived without much fanfare. There was no sunrise to announce the dawn of a new day, merely a faint spot in the sky that was the sun behind the thick cloud of miasma that coated the world. Or so Ignis had been told. He couldn't make it out himself, and daybreak made little difference to the temperature for him to discern it that way.

The change was signified mostly by an increase in activity. Ignis listened, having lain awake for what had to be an hour as the camp around him slowly came to life. Glaives and Hunters awoke, shared tubs of water for washing and shaving. The volume of life rose in place of the sun.

Ignis stroked a hand over his cheek. His own stubble dragged against his palm. He hadn't shaved in front of anyone but Gladio in years, but given the choice between that and leaving himself looking unkempt, he knew which he preferred.

The bathroom facilities left much to be desired. There was, at least, a curtain for privacy, and Ignis had dealt with much less luxury than a bucket and a curtain on his travels. It would be the task of some unlucky person to take the bucket and its contents to the edge of the circle of safety provided by the lights and tip it away. Had it been safer, Ignis knew they'd have done as they had when it was just the four of them travelling, and ventured to the nearest bush or copse of trees to relieve themselves. 

Breakfast was last night's leftovers. The flavour hadn't been improved by the overnight stewing, but it was at least edible. Ignis sat by himself as he ate, listening to the late risers make their way about, and Gladio's voice occasionally rising above the crowd to assign jobs.

“Everyone going to Merrioth, line up!” he called.

Ignis listened as a selection of hunters, eight or so in total, moved away from the rest.

“Get your gear,” Glado told them, “you'll be leaving within the hour.” Ignis put his breakfast down and made his way over while Gladio explained the plan again. “Circlawe are gonna get the call to move at the same time as you head out. You're gonna sweep between here and Merrioth and make sure the area's clear. When you get to Merrioth you'll get chance to patch up, but once Circlawe move in, we all move, so the quicker you get there the more time you'll have to fix yourselves up.”

Ignis listened as the hunters dispersed, heading to their various tents and packs. “Morning, Iggy,” Gladio said, as they were left relatively alone, or as alone as they could get on a crowded haven. Gladio did quite a good job at keeping his tone friendly, but neutral. It bore none of that tenderness from their private conversations on guard duty.

“Good morning,” Ignis greeted him back.

“Ready for the big push?”

Ignis frowned. His time lying awake while the camp roused itself had given him time to think on the plan. “I want to join the party going to Merrioth,” he said. He could hear the sudden tension in the silence that followed. Gladio cleared his throat, sounding as if he'd been caught off guard.

“Is that a good idea?” Gladio asked, his voice quiet, no doubt with an eye on the hunters behind Ignis. Ignis could hear that he'd stood straight; his voice came from slightly above Ignis's own head.

“You're here,” Ignis replied, “Prompto's at Circlawe. The Marshal may be at Merrioth, but they're also going to bear the brunt of the assault. In the interests of concentrating the strength where it's most needed, Merrioth is where I'll be best placed.”

“Iggy--” Gladio began. Ignis heard him choke off whatever he'd been about to say.

“Do you doubt my ability?” Ignis asked. He knew that Gladio didn't, but he needed him to admit it so that he couldn't make a point against Ignis's intentions. Ignis knew why he was against it. It was the same reason that Ignis wouldn't have wanted Gladio to join Cor at Merrioth.

“No,” Gladio answered. Then added, vehemently, “Fuck no, Iggy, you know I don't.”

Ignis gave a nod. “I'm the most magically capable fighter here,” he pointed out, “and the best supportive combatant in the Crownsguard.”

“That's why I wanted you with us,” Gladio answered. “I'm gonna need you on my back.”

Ignis offered Gladio a gentle smile. “As commander here, of course the decision is yours,” he said. “I trust you to place me where it's best for the operation.”

Gladio sighed. “Let me speak to Cor,” he said, finally. “He knows better what sort of hands he's got there.” Ignis turned to move away, prepared for that to be the end of it, when Gladio spoke again; “You know if you go there you'll be in the vanguard facing the deathclaw?”

Ignis stopped and turned his attention back to Gladio. When he answered, it was in apology: “I know.”


	2. The Decisions Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party moves in to clear out the nest and face down the deathclaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this half written from Iggy's perspective and then scrapped it because I realised it needed Gladio's, so I'm sorry for the delay, but not that sorry.

Cor's voice crackled on the radio, but it was clear enough for Gladio to hear what he was saying. “You're sure about this?”

No. The word sat there on Gladio's tongue. He could taste it. “He is.”

“Gladio,” Cor's vice was stern and authoritative even though the sound was fuzzy over the distance, “this isn't the time to let your emotions cloud your judgement. Don't send him this way because you can't work together.”

Gladio's fist clenched, nails digging into his palm. “I'm not,” he answered. “I want him at my back. He's the best supportive fighter we've got, but he's right,” and Gladio hated it. “You're gonna need him more.”

The radio spat and hissed. Gladio waited for Cor to respond, to tell him they were fine without Ignis, or that Gladio was going to have to send Ignis through the night once more to face things Gladio would rather protect him from.

“We could use him,” Cor agreed. Gladio's heart sank. “And the party coming over could do with the back up.”

Gladio sighed before he hit the button to reply. He hadn't wanted to do Iggy the disservice of refusing to let him go. He'd come so far. Gladio had known how hard Ignis would push himself from the moment they'd spoken in Cartanica. Ignis wasn't going to let himself get left behind, and Gladio wasn't going to let Ignis get left behind.

That meant that now Gladio had to let Iggy go and take on fights he had no right to keep him from. He wanted to keep him from them, he really wanted to keep him tucked safely within Lestallum's walls, but not because Iggy was blind. Blindness had stripped so much away from Ignis and Iggy had dragged every scrap of it back with his nails and his teeth and overwhelming reserves of sheer fucking stubbornness.

Gladio didn't want to let Ignis go and fight the things he was going to have to fight because he was Ignis, and Gladio's heart screamed at him to put himself between Iggy and danger. The thought of Ignis getting hurt, of him dying after everything he'd gone through, made Gladio's skin prickle uncomfortably and his stomach flip. It made his fingers tremble to think of Ignis going up against a deathclaw.

It wasn't because Ignis was blind that Gladio wanted to stop him, it was because Gladio loved him. He loved him so much that every day apart was a dull, persistent ache in his guts. Seeing him emerging from the darkness and into the haven's spotlights had sent Gladio's heart soaring up into his mouth, where it hadn't settled until Ignis was safely standing on the haven beside him, and then for the first time in months Gladio felt whole. All the things he missed; hot showers; cup noodles; watching the stars track across the night sky, the holes they left were filled by Ignis's presence. At least something was right again, something was the way it was supposed to be, and that something was Iggy being by his side.

“Then I'll let him know he's going,” he told Cor.

The radio fell dead as Gladio left it behind. He could see Iggy, his new hairdo marking him out from the crowd easily. It was ridiculous, really, and probably used way too much hair gel, but Iggy rocked it anyway. The man could look good in a plastic sack, so of course he could sport the most ostentatious updo Gladio had seen in the better part of a decade and look like a rock star instead of an idiot.

The visor on his face that protected his damaged eyes from dust, and the dark jeans that made Gladio want to run his hands over the curve of Ignis's ass only added to the rock star look. Ignis looked ethereally beautiful in the spotlights. Gladio felt like a man dying of thirst in the middle of the ocean. All he wanted was to hold Ignis, and Ignis was right there but Gladio couldn't touch him.

“Ignis,” he said, when he was a few feet away. The curious heads of several hunters turned towards Gladio, as did Ignis, his expression expectant as he listened. “You're going to Merrioth.”

Ignis bowed his head in a nod. “Yes, sir,” he answered.

Gladio glanced across the other faces, half expecting a protest from some of the others that were going to Merrioth too. Instead there was an uneasy silence. Gladio caught one or two looking at Ignis, or each other, but no one spoke up to complain. Last night seemed to have drummed home that Gladio wasn't going to stand for people's opinions unless they knew what they were talking about.

He gave the group a nod and turned away, heading back to the control tent, and the radio for word from Prompto's party. At least, in the short time before Ignis left for Merrioth, there was plenty to keep Gladio occupied. The radio buzzed with progress reports from each of the havens. Merrioth's perimeter guard had taken down a couple of wraiths. Circlawe had received a few extra hands and all the medical supplies those hands could carry from Longwythe. 

That was good. At least the back up would be stocked for any eventuality. Gladio could still remember the sight of the deathclaw, waiting for them like it had known they were coming. He tried not to think about the screams as it had torn through hunters, killing the lucky ones instantly. He'd called the retreat as soon as he'd realised how strong the thing was, but it hadn't been fast enough.

Cor stood a chance. He was still the best damn fighter they had. Gladio just hoped his chance was good enough to carry the hunters that would be with him through, too. Including Iggy.

Especially Iggy.

Every fibre of Gladio's heart wanted to do everything he could to keep Iggy safe. The idea of letting him go now and walk into a danger Gladio had seen for himself made his stomach roll. It already took every ounce of his self control not to drag Ignis into his arms and kiss him, and plead with him to stay with the Pallebram team.

But for all that he hated it, he knew that Ignis was right. He was one of the best fighters they had, still. Again. After all the work he'd put in to getting better Gladio wondered if Ignis wasn't even better now than he had been before Altissia. Cor's group would be facing the worst of it; staging a full frontal attack and relying on others for back up. They needed to hit hard and fast to stand a chance at making it. Ignis being there could keep a few extra hunters alive through it.

Gladio watched Ignis check his stash of curatives and spells. A couple of the kids he'd arrived with hung around him. The admiration was plain on their faces. They were just a couple of kids, probably no older than Noct and Prompto used to be, and they looked at Ignis with wide eyed wonder as he spoke to them, like they were looking at a legend.

They were. They didn't even know how legendary the things Ignis had done really were. He'd given up so much, he'd sacrificed things for others all his life while fighting tooth and nail to keep the few things he wouldn't surrender. He'd worn the Ring of the Lucii and lived. He'd survived getting to Gralea while blind, and getting out again. He'd picked his lance back up and he'd worked to reclaim every last inch of his former ability, despite being blind.

“Sir?” The voice snapped Gladio from his reverie, and he turned to look at Victor. “Circlawe are ready to move. We're a go.”

Gladio inhaled through his nose. “Thanks,” he replied. “Let them know we're moving.”

Victor gave a nod, leaving Gladio's side to relay the message as Gladio stood. “Merrioth party,” he called, casting his eyes over the group. Now that they were all together, weapons ready, there didn't look to be enough of them. Gladio could send every body on the haven and it still wouldn't be enough of them. “You're clear to go. Move out.”

Someone whooped as nine lightly armoured figures, including Ignis, made their way to the edge of the haven and jumped down to the ground below. “See you in Longwythe for drinks!” a voice called.

Gladio stood at the edge of the havenstone, watching as the party slowly left the circle of safety created by the spotlights. “Don't die on me,” he murmured, watching Ignis follow them, his head held high and his stride proud and confident.

_Fear and doubt beget death alone_. Gladio closed his eyes as the darkness swallowed Ignis. Ignis and Gilgamesh agreed on that one thing, that was for sure. It was hard, painfully hard to let Ignis walk off into danger. But he had to let Ignis do it.

It was okay to be afraid, but he couldn't let that fear paralyse him. He'd learned that with Gilgamesh; that he couldn't let his fear of not being strong enough to protect Noct stop him from actually doing it. It was no different now. He couldn't let his fear of losing Ignis stop him from doing what the world needed them both to do. If he let his fears win, he'd lose everything.

He lingered at the edge of the haven, until even the sound of the other party was long gone from the air, and then he turned to his own mismatched band of seasoned hunters and wide eyed kids that had grown up in a world of darkness and daemons. “Make your preparations,” he told them. “When the word comes, we move.”

***

The word came an hour later. Ignis's party had landed safely at Merrioth with nothing more than cuts and scrapes. A weight lifted from Gladio's chest that he hadn't realised had been quite so oppressive, but the respite was temporary. Circlawe was on the move, carving a path through the darkness and splitting into two groups to flank the Valleys.

Gladio's chest felt tight as he gave the order to his own party to move. Cor's team were already assembling. Nestled somewhere in the shelter of the Valley was a nidus that they had to find and cut down. Gladio had seen them a few times; a big dark spire of infection that drew daemons in. The longer they were left, the stronger the daemons around them became. If you didn't cut them down, you got a nest like this. 

Left unchecked, the nest would make the havens surrounding it unusable. Even if the magical protection held, no one would be able to get to or from them alive. After that the daemons would come for the settlements; Hammerhead, Longwythe, and then Galdin. They couldn't afford to lose any of them. Humanity was crushed into as little space as it could occupy. Galdin shored up their food supplies. Hammerhead was a hunter's camp, working in tandem with Meldacio from the other side of the continent. Longwythe was the connection between the two. Lose any of them and the whole world became that bit more vulnerable.

Gladio tried not to think about what was at risk as he stepped off the haven and out into the darkness. He needed to focus on the task in front of him. A head count before they moved showed nineteen hunters and varying levels of experience. It sounded like a lot. It had looked like a lot when they were crammed onto a havenstone together, but moving away from the haven's safety revealed them to be a vulnerable school of fish that had wandered too deep into the ocean's depths; small, brightly coloured, surrounded by predators, and definitely out of place in this darkness.

“Spread out, but don't wander off,” he growled. They might be vulnerable, but they were well armed, and knew better than to walk around in each other's pockets out here. Getting concussed by the pommel of your ally's knife because you were too close would be an embarrassing way to be taken out. They needed space to fight.

If there was anything to fight. Last night while he'd been on guard with Iggy they could hear the sounds of daemons out here. Now, traversing by the light of nineteen much too small torches, everything seemed eerily quiet.

“Keep an eye on our rear,” he instructed, looking at a pair of kids Iggy had come in with. Flynn, or Finn, something like that, and one with the crappy sort of facial hair that teenage boys trying to look older tried to cultivate. Gladio realised with a pang that he hadn't got to know these kids' names. He hoped he got the chance to later.

“Yes sir,” came the instant reply. Fuck, they were young if they were responding as sharply as that.

The unnatural quiet sent the hairs rising on the back of Gladio's neck. Every booted footstep echoed as they moved through the darkness, navigating by beams of torchlight that gave away their locations as surely as it gave away their number. Daemons weren't supposed to be smart. They didn't plan, or ambush, as a rule. They didn't track people through the noise of their feet. They were simply drawn to wherever there were enough living bodies to attract their attention.

But still, sometimes Gladio wondered. Some of them seemed more human than others, and he'd run into more than one daemon that could talk. They had a singleminded fixation, sure, but they had enough mind to speak.

Gladio sincerely hoped they weren't going up against anything smart enough to still be able to think its way around a corner. A pincer attack wasn't exactly top secret military tactics, and with the terrain, it was all they had. Aranea was too valuable elsewhere to call her in as the lone air support, and way too valuable to risk losing that way.

If they were up against stupid, if tough, daemons then they'd be fine.

The varied beams of torchlight landed upon the rocky walls of the Valley. Everything was still way too quiet, especially given the shit that had chased Iggy and the others last night. Was it because it was technically daytime? They didn't know if that still had an effect any more; the sun was just a brighter patch of blackness in the sky now, but they'd take what they could get. It was better than thinking the daemons might be waiting for them.

They were approaching the entrance to the rocky enclave that formed the Valley. The walls seemed to peel back, creating a nice funnel to the inside. Merrioth should be arriving on the other side any moment, if they weren't already in there. Would Iggy be by Cor's side, heading straight for the deathclaw already?

No. There wasn't the time for that sort of thinking. There was a job to do.

Gladio reached into the armiger, his promise that Noct, wherever the kid was, was still alive, still working with them, and drew out his greatsword. The sound of a half dozen Glaives, all of them drawing on Noct's power, doing the same tore through the air just as the sound of twisting metal and bubbling ichor erupted.

“Here we go!”

“Tonberry!” The cry went out as everyone moved at once, the group scattering. Gladio and two others went for the Tonberry, and the others dived for the entrance into the Valley. A flash of purple that moved too quickly for Gladio's liking made him bring his shield out, bracing against the impact. The air took on the odour of burning metal.

Gladio growled and swung in retaliation, his greatsword cleaving the air and catching the daemon on the upswing. _Master_ Tonberry, he thought. They'd taken one out back in Altissia, years ago. Back then it had been a challenge and it had taken four of them to down the thing. As the years had gone by, Gladio had got stronger, but these bastards had got tougher and faster too.

Not fast enough, though. A gunshot cracked the air and the Tonberry tumbled to the floor. It righted itself, and began to waddle around menacingly. Gladio didn't want to give it chance to start flipping around again. He brought his greatsword down in an overarm swing, aiming to cut the daemon in two and retreated back behind his shield without waiting for it to counter.

More gunshots and another arcing swipe with his greatsword toppled the Tonberry. It wobbled dramatically on its feet, and then fell sideways like a felled tree before breaking up into the miasma that made up the daemon's bodies.

Gladio didn't stop to thank the guys that had been with him. “Come on!” he told them, turning to head inside the Valley where the air was a maelstrom of daemons, weapons, and the shouts of hunters. He jumped and attacked a Necromancer that was preparing to blast a pair of hunters with petrification. His blade bit into bone with a crunch. The daemon reeled.

He spotted the nidus further in, being guarded by a pair of wraiths and a slew of goblins. Gladio gave the Necromancer another vicious slash, his greatsword driving into its ribs with a sickening clatter and snap and then moved for the more important target. Throwing a pair of airborne goblins aside with his shield he swung his greatsword to clear the path. The Valley opened out around him, illuminated by the swinging torchlights of a couple dozen hunters and the burning gaps in daemonic armour.

Gladio defended against a wraith as the weird magical attack they were so fond of swung out around it. He hunkered down behind his shield and spotted a second nidus, almost in the centre of the Valley. As the magical volley abated he rose up, smashing the wraith in the face with his shield, and whistled sharply. Three goblins came to try and avenge their wraith friend, and Gladio cut them in half with one swing before he turned to the nearest pair of hunters.

“There's another one!” he shouted, gesturing to the second nidus with his sword. “Take it down or they'll keep coming!”

A volley of rapid gunshots echoed across the Valley. Gladio's heart leapt; that sounded like Prompto. He killed another goblin as it made an ill advised leap for his face, and took a swing at a second wraith, keeping one eye on the surrounding area.

The deathclaw roared in the darkness. Gladio looked just in time to see a figure descending from the sky with a lance, landing right on top of it and making it roar in anger again. That could only be Iggy taking tips from Aranea.

It was like taking a potion. Knowing that the three of them were here, together, and fighting again was revitalising. It was the first thing that had felt right in years.

With renewed vigour Gladio went back in for the wraiths. The last goblin was cast aside by his blade, already turning to smoke, and he brought a vicious downstroke on the first wraith's body, and drove his shield into the other without pausing. He didn't give the daemons chance to get back up, attacking again until they were fading away before his weapons, and continuing his momentum on to bring his sword against the nidus they'd been protecting, felling it like a tree.

The ground opened up. A huge flaming sword erupted in front of him. The other two hunters were working on the second nidus, holding off an Ariadne that was trying to stop them. Gladio took a step back, bracing himself as the Red Giant emerged. He'd always hated these bastards. They took a hit too well for his liking.

Gun shots rang out, clanging off the Giant's skin. Gladio turned to see the pair he'd rescued from the Necromancer rushing up to help. Another three were behind them, holding off a couple of reapers. Gladio shot the daemon a wicked, victorious grin, and went in for the kill. His sword clanged against the metallic armour of the Giant, and when it retaliated with a wide sweeping arc Gladio caught the blow on his shield and held it back.

“Aim for the holes in its armour!” he cried, countering hard at the daemon's hand and feeling the way the edge of his blade bit in to the daemon's skin. The air smelled of flames and hot metal, and sweat, and sulphur. The light from the flaming sword was too bright for Gladio to see what was going on in the rest of the Valley, but he could hear the deathclaw battling on. If he concentrated he could hear Cor barking orders at Glaives. Repeated volleys of gunfire echoed off the Valley's walls, so it was impossible to tell where they were coming from any more.

He dodged out of the way as the Giant's sword came crashing down into the ground and stuck in the rock. “Give it everything you've got!” he called, without looking back to see who he was issuing the instruction to. He leapt, bringing his greatsword down with two hands in a crushing blow while the Daemon was trying to free its sword from the rocky earth. Shots ricocheted off the metal of the daemon's body, and Gladio swung again, putting all his power into the blade.

The Daemon fell to its knees. He ran behind it, taking advantage of its weakness, and hammering it with blows from his sword. The daemon gave out a plaintive cry of defeat, tried to stand one more time, and then collapsed.

The other hunters cheered, but their celebration was cut short as the deathclaw's laser swept across the Valley, narrowly missing Gladio and scoring lines in the ground.

He looked over to see Cor moving back in to strike, and no sign of Iggy. The place was lit up with the glow of bombs and hunters holding them back, trying to let the Marshal do his job. Gladio shouldered his sword and ran, hoping like hell that Iggy and Prompto were just behind the thing and that was why he couldn't see them.

Giant claws swept at Cor as Gladio approached, and Gladio spotted it, tucked away in a niche in the rock: a third nidus. They could take the deathclaw down and then try to get it, but who knew what would crop up between now and then? With three nidus it was no wonder the place was a nest of the nastiest daemons Eos had to offer.

He growled, and averted his course. The deathclaw would have to wait. A Hecteyes slithered into his path, blinking at him ominously. Gladio didn't give the thing a second to start doing the trick where it shoots lasers from its eyes while doing a twirl, and sliced into it like it was so much pudding. In three swings it was down, and the ground trembled as the deathclaw jumped and landed.

“Need a hand, big guy?”

Prompto's face was flecked with dirt, and sometime between the last time he'd seen him and now Prompto had decided to staple half a rat pelt to his chin, but he was still the same Prompto. “Let's get this thing and finish that deathclaw,” Gladio answered, with a grin. “Can't let the Marshall have all the fun.”

Prompto laughed before pulling a chainsaw out of the armiger and running in towards the nidus. A Grenade made a beeline for them, and Gladio smashed it into the ground in one strike while the sound of Prompto carving the nidus up filled the air. The nidus hit the dirt with a crash and Gladio swept another Grenade aside as the air became clouded with miasma.

A tap to Gladio's shoulder made him turn, following Prompto towards the deathclaw when the daemon erupted into flames and gave a screech as it reeled. For a moment Gladio thought one of the Grenades had exploded near it. Then he saw a figure cartwheeling out of the fire and coming to a stop with unnatural grace.

“Iggy!” he called, forgetting to hide his relief. “Nice work!”

“But of course,” Ignis replied, in that posh cocky way he had that just made Gladio want to drag him into his arms and never let go.

Prompto swapped his chainsaw for a gun, firing off a full cylinder of bullets at the daemon before it had chance to recover. “Mind if we crash the party?”

“We've got room for a little one,” Cor replied, emerging from behind the daemon's tail as he attacked its blind side.

Gladio felt his heart soaring again. It was pounding in his chest, thumping through his veins. He didn't feel tired. His body was writing cheques he was going to struggle to cash, but he wasn't feeling it right now and that was all that mattered. It was him, Iggy, and Prompto against the daemons and the dark. They could do this.

His greatsword carved into the daemon's exoskeleton. Iggy and Cor, and whoever else had been on the front line against it, had already worn it down to its last legs. Gladio attacked its flank as hard as he could, swinging with all his might to try and land a crippling blow. Iggy's lance drove up into the gap where the daemon's limbs joined its body with expert precision, and twisted as Ignis drew back for another strike.

“It's nearly done!” Cor cried. “Get on top of it, Ignis!”

“I need some height,” Ignis hissed through gritted teeth as he pulled back.

“Want a boost?” Gladio asked.

He felt Ignis looking at him, or at least triangulating his exact position based on the sound of his voice. Then Iggy nodded, “Yes,” he answered, taking a few steps back.

“Keep it busy, Prompto!” Gladio called, dismissing his sword as Ignis took a run towards him. He cupped his hands together, bending into a squat as gunshots rang out behind him. Iggy's foot rose as if he was leaping at a step.

Gladio brought his hands up under Iggy's boot and launched him upwards. Ignis sailed into the night, drawing his lance out in a flash of sparkling blue at the peak of his jump and then drove it down ahead of his feet.

There was a crunch like a car being crushed as Ignis landed, his lance driving straight through the deathclaw's carapace, and it collapsed.

The smell of sulphur was unmistakable as the deathclaw began to melt and smoke. The fighting was still going on around them. Gladio swung at a couple of goblins as they ran up to try and take them on. Prompto shot another three before they got close.

Cor's hand landed squarely on Gladio's back as Ignis emerged from the smoking, bubbling ruin of the daemon, his hand clamped over his mouth so he didn't choke on the sulphur, or breathe in too much of the miasma. “Good work,” Cor said, “all of you.”

“Is that all of them?” Ignis asked. Gladio wanted to drag him into his arms and tell him he was amazing, but he squashed the urge. There was a time and a place, and he was going to do his best to make sure they headed back to civilisation together and got some of that time.

“Looks like it,” Gladio said.

He looked around. The Valley was eerily still and quiet now. There were just the groans of the injured, and the slow, tired movements of the Glaives and hunters that were still standing. Their number looked to have halved, Gladio realised, with a painful pang that shattered any jubilation he might have felt about the victory like so much glass.

“Check for survivors,” Cor said, his voice flat.

Some of the bodies on the floor didn't require close inspection to know they were dead. Gladio stopped and checked them anyway, retrieving dog tags where they had them. He didn't know how many hunters these days still had families to protect, but taking their names home was the least they deserved.

Prompto ambled past, another man's arm slung across his shoulder as he helped the injured hunter hobble towards the Valley's exit. They'd be heading back to Merrioth; it was the closest of the three havens, and within sight of a direct route to Hammerhead. 

Gladio stood, pocketing another tag for safekeeping and looked for the next one to check. His gaze landed on Ignis, and the crowd of three around him.

Iggy's head turned as Gladio approached, his hearing pinpoint accurate as always. The hunters around him were the youngsters he'd arrived with at Pallebram, Gladio realised. The sound of crying was choked and muted.

“Someone you knew?”

“Adam,” Ignis answered. Gladio heard the strain in his voice, so subtle but so clear if you knew him well. If you didn't, you wouldn't know how much control Ignis was exerting on himself not to cry right now. “I wish I could say I knew him better.”

Gladio watched Ignis squeeze the shoulder of the youngest of the three, whose tears had streaked through the dirt on his face. “He got family?”

A head shook. Gladio turned his attention to someone that looked like he was pushing twenty at best. “Just us,” came the answer, in a voice that fought against cracking and lost. “It's always been just us. I shouldn't have brought him here.”

“That is quite enough of that,” Ignis said, with the same gentle scolding Gladio used to hear him use on Noct when he was sulking.

“But--”

“Iggy's right,” Gladio cut in. “You're his family. You're what he was fighting for and you made it. He'd consider it a fair trade,” he said, making himself keep his eyes off Ignis as he added, “I would.”

Ignis bowed his head as Gladio finished and took a steadying breath. “Come on,” he said, as kindly as he could manage, “we have to go before daemons start arriving again. They'll be drawn by our presence.”

“You want us to leave him?” The boy that Ignis had been comforting, with his scrappy facial hair and brown eyes, pulled back sharply. Iggy's arm dropped to his side, but his chin rose. His hair was falling out of the careful pompadour in strands, and his jacket was spattered with blood that had probably come from another hunter.

“Taking him home will do nothing but slow you down,” Ignis answered, as gently as he could manage.

Gladio saw the argument brewing, the defiance striking up in two pairs of young eyes. He prepared himself to step in. Giving mourning kids a reality check was one of the unpleasant parts of the job that hadn't got any less complicated since he'd tried to do it with Noct on that train all those years ago.

“He's right,” a voice whispered.

Gladio looked at the third speaker. He wasn't really sure if he was older or younger than his two remaining companions, but he sure looked more resigned. 

“Adam's dead. Let's not make it all of us.”

“We can't!” argued the one Ignis had been comforting.

“We have to,” came the reply. “It's why we have tags. If we try to take a whole body home, there's not gonna be anyone to take our bodies home.”

An uncomfortable silence descended across them. “What's your name?” Gladio asked, breaking it.

“Nereus,” answered the kid. He pointed to the one with the scrappy scruff of baby beard. “He's Finn,” a thumb pointed to the older one, “and Kenny.”

“Gladio,” intoned Gladio, by way of introduction.

“We know,” muttered Finn, quietly. Gladio couldn't help his crooked smile at the comment.

“When you're next in Lestallum, look me up,” he said. “I could do with some new sparring partners.”

There was a faint huff, almost like laughter, from Finn, and Gladio watched three sets of eyes fall back to their fallen comrade. Ignis seemed to sense where they were looking. “Come on,” he repeated, gently, “we need to get back to Merrioth and report.”

They lingered for a moment, and then slowly peeled away, Kenny first. Ignis's hand fell across Nereus's shoulder as he brushed past Ignis, and Gladio watched Iggy's fingers tighten, and then his arm drop back to his side.

Gladio brought his own arm up, brushing gently along Ignis's back but not daring to let the touch linger as Ignis made to follow.

The surviving hunters assembled at the Valley's entrance. Merrioth was practically on the doorstep. The floodlights were already visible casting their safety net around the haven. Some hunters were holding legs aloft, walking with the aid of bits of wood or other hunters, other bore arms in slings, but plenty of others seemed to have got away with cuts and scrapes. So long as they didn't run into anything big between here and the haven, they should be fine.

“You think we did it?” Prompto asked, emerging from the crowd as Cor set them off to return to camp.

“We'll know in time,” Ignis answered. “I believe we located and destroyed all of the nidus.”

Gladio gave a grunt of agreement. “We got three,” he said.

“We destroyed a fourth on the way in,” Ignis added. “Little wonder the place was rife with daemons.”

It sounded like there was more to come on the end of that statement. Gladio looked sidelong at Ignis to see the corners of his mouth downturned in thought. He knew that look. “Seems like a lot for such a small spot,” he said, following Iggy's mind down its current track.

“Yes,” Ignis confirmed. His tone suggested there were whole paragraphs of text unspoken.

“Well,” Prompto said, lacing his hands behind his head as he walked, “this place _has_ been a nest for a while.”

“We'll report it to Sania,” Gladio said, directing his voice towards Iggy.

“Oooh, _Sania_ ,” Prompto said, with a teasing lilt in his voice. “Since when were you on first name terms?”

Gladio shot Prompto a look as pointed as Iggy's daggers, but refrained from outright telling him to shut up. Prompto, to his credit, glanced at Ignis and then winced as if he'd just realised how what he'd said could sound.

Ignis bowed his head momentarily. Gladio wasn't sure if he'd picked up on the silent exchange between him and Prompto due to a change in the atmosphere, or sudden silence, or if he was oblivious. “I've been sharing my research in the tombs with Professor Yaeger,” he said, carefully, and Gladio knew Ignis had _definitely_ picked up on the change in mood. “She's working on a number of theories. She might find information like this useful.”

“We can make sure she gets copied in to Cor's report,” Gladio said. The haven loomed ahead, and Gladio watched as the injured hunters were helped to climb the stone to safety. Off in the distance Gladio could see the parading flames of a Red Giant moving back and forth unheeding of the hunters' procession.

“Yeah,” Prompto confirmed, enthusiastically.

Cor was already in the communications tent when Gladio got onto the haven. Weary and dirt streaked hunters were quick to find places to settle down. The fact that some of the tents still pitched on the stone's surface had last been slept in by men who were now dead lingered unspoken in the air. As tired as people were, no one wanted to venture into the tents; the losses were still too fresh.

Gladio spotted Kenny, Nereus, and Finn, hunkered down and looking lost near the campfire, but he passed by them to go and find Cor. His request that Sania be copied in to the report died on his tongue when he found him. Cor looked ashen.

“What happened?” Gladio asked, his mind already turning to Lestallum, and Iris. His throat dried out as he waited for Cor to answer.

“An SOS came in from Longwythe while we were fighting,” Cor said, his voice leaden. “Their lights are down.”

Gladio fought against a rising bubble of guilt at the fact that the first emotion he felt was relief. It wasn't Lestallum. It wasn't Iris and the rest. He turned, looking over his shoulder at the crowd of exhausted hunters. “More than half these men aren't fit to fight,” he said, turning back to Cor.

Cor gave a slow nod, his mouth fixed in a grim line. “We only left Longwythe with the bare minimum,” he said. “It's almost as if the daemons planned it,” he growled.

Gladio, with Ignis's unspoken musings about the number of nidus in the Valley still ringing in his head, said, “Not the daemons.”

Cor looked at him, pale blue eyes locking onto Gladio's own with a sucking gaze that felt as if it was turning over every stone in his mind. Then Cor gripped the table and looked down. “If I send the able hunters to Longwythe it'll leave Hammerhead and the injured undefended,” he said. “Longwythe is most likely already lost. Aranea's en route to Galdin with her men.”

“I'll go,” Gladio said. Cor looked up at him. “Me, Iggy, and Prompto. Tell them to have Aranea come pick us up once she's dropped her men off. We'll get any survivors.”

Cor's mouth tightened, and then he looked down at the table again and nodded. “Take one of the trucks,” he said. Gladio gave a sharp nod in acknowledgement and turned to leave. He was stopped short when Cor called him. “And Gladio?”

“Sir?”

“Godspeed,” Cor said.

Gladio looked back at him, and the tight line of his mouth and tired droop of his eyes. Cor looked old, he realised, like his dad had just before they'd left Insomnia. When Gladio had been younger he'd thought that had been his father's age. Now he recognised the marks of age as the lines left on a face when someone bore the weight of a crumbling world on their shoulders.

“Same to you,” he replied, and turned to grab Iggy and Prompto as discreetly as he could.

Gladio stepped around exhausted hunters and injured Glaives. Ignis and Prompto were still on their feet, talking casually. Ignis fastidiously tucked loose strands of hair that had fallen across his face back up with the rest, where they were reluctant to stay.

As Gladio skirted around someone that was sprawled out, their arm resting over their eyes, Ignis turned towards him. Sometimes Gladio was sure the man could see him. “What is it?” Ignis asked.

Gladio glanced down at the spread of the injured and the tired around them, and hooked his hand around Iggy's upper arm, leading him away, and to the edge of the haven. “Cor needs us to pick something up,” he said, aware of the eyes and ears that would be watching. The hunters here were too spent to be helpful, and the last thing they needed was to send a ripple of worry and dismay through the camp and end up wasting time arguing about who was going to Longwythe. “You good for another trip?”

“The three of us?” Prompto asked, obeying Gladio's silent gesture to come with them. “It'll be just like old times.”

There were three trucks parked on the dirt road that passed by the haven. Gladio wasn't sure if they'd be getting the one they took back, but if it took a couple of trips to retrieve the generators, lighting, and radio equipment set up at the havens then so be it. Some things were more important. Gladio escorted Ignis and Prompto off the haven and towards the front truck.

“What is it?” Ignis asked, as they reached the edge of the circle of light around the haven. The sounds from the camp had grown muted with the small distance.

“SOS from Longwythe,” Gladio muttered, still guiding Ignis over the uneven terrain, not that he needed it. Iggy's arm was warm under his hand, his body heat seeping through the jacket.

“What?” Prompto asked, coming to a standstill a couple of feet behind them.

“How old?” Ignis asked, his voice soft. 

Trust Iggy to get straight to the heart of it. “Couple of hours,” Gladio answered. “It came through just after we'd left the havens.”

Prompto looked horror stricken. The same devastation that rattled around in Gladio's chest and queasy feeling in his gut was plain in Prompto's slack jaw and wide eyes. “But,” Prompto finally managed, “how?”

“It was a trap,” Ignis answered, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

“But daemons can't plan.”

Ignis turned to Prompto. “But who controls the daemons?” he asked. Gladio could almost hear the cogs ticking furiously around in Iggy's mind as he slotted the pieces together. “He's been watching,” he said, “which means this is still a trap. It doesn't end with Longwythe.”

Gladio opened the truck's door for Iggy. “It does if we have anything to do with it,” he replied. “Aranea's flying back up in to Galdin, Cor's taking anyone else fit to fight to Hammerhead.”

“And we're going to Longwythe?” Prompto checked, watching as Ignis dragged his leg up the side of the truck until he found the top of the step and hauled himself in.

“Yeah,” Gladio agreed. “We're checking for survivors.”

“And then?” Ignis asked, his blind eyes finding Gladio's face with unerring precision.

Gladio swallowed. He didn't want to say that he didn't know, that by the time they got picked up from Longwythe it might be too late, but that Longwythe was also the only place they were close enough to help right now. “Then Aranea's gonna come pick us up,” he answered, “and we'll go wherever we're needed.”

Ignis gave a subtle nod, and then shuffled himself along the truck's bench seating with his hands. “Then there's no time to lose,” he said.

“No,” Gladio agreed. He waited for Prompto to clamber in beside Ignis before throwing the truck's door closed and running around to the driver's side.

Now would be a really good time for Noct to put in an appearance.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter at [A_Azraelle.](https://twitter.com/A_Azraelle)
> 
> I'm sorry this has taken so long, and thank you to everyone that's still here. I've said before, and I'll say again that I am here for the long haul, but life has been A Thing these last few months. Hopefully, I can start relaxing again and participating more.
> 
> This fandom wouldn't be what it is without you, you personally, and I wouldn't still be here without you. So long as even one person wants to read what I've written, I will continue to write, it just might take me a bit longer sometimes.
> 
> So if you're reading this, thank you. You're why I'm still here.


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